he moment he left the room. She drew on her cloak.
Before the pier glass she paused.

"Aye," she murmured, "I could not match the first farmer's daughter. But
still there must be one man in the world--and God will make up the
difference!"

She threw open the door which gave on a passage leading to a side
entrance. A grenadier of the palace guard jumped to attention and
presented arms.

"Pardon," he said.

He completely blocked the hall; the prince had left nothing to chance.
She started to turn back and then hesitated and regarded the man
carefully.

"Fritz!" she said at last, for she recognized the peasant who had been a
stable-boy on her father's estate before he took service in the
grenadiers. "You are Fritz Barr!"

He flushed with pleasure.

"_Madame_ remembers me?"

"And my little black pony you used to take care of?"

"Yes, yes!"

He grinned and nodded; and then she noted a revolver in the holster at
his side.

"What are your orders, Fritz?"

"To let no one pass down this hall. I am sorry, _madame_."

"But if I were to ask you for your revolver?"

He stirred uneasily and she took money from her purse and gave it to
him.

"With this you could procure another weapon?"

He drew a long breath; the temptation was great.

"I could, _madame_."

"Then do so. It will never be known from whom I received the gun--and my
need is desperate--desperate!"

He unbuckled the weapon without a word, and with it in her hand she
returned to the room.

There was a tall western window, and before this she drew up a chair to
watch the setting of the sun.

"Will he ring the bell when the edge of the sun touches the hills or
when it is completely set?" she thought.

The white circle grew yellow; then it took on a taint of orange, bulging
oddly at the sides into a clumsy oval. From the gardens below came a
stir of voices and then the thrill of a girl's laughter. She smiled as
she listened, and, leaning from the window, the west wind blew to her
the scent of flowers. She sat there for a long time, breathing deeply of
the fragrance and noting all the curves of the lawn with a still, sad
pleasure. The green changed from bright to dark; when she looked up the
sun had set.

As she turned from the gay western sky, the room was doubly dim and the
breeze of the evening set the curtains rustling and whispering. Silence
she was prepared for, but not those ghostly voices, not the shift and
sweep of the shadows. She tur